


Second Chance

by Alasse_Irena



Category: Ancient History RPF
Genre: M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alasse_Irena/pseuds/Alasse_Irena
Summary: As old men, Scipio and Hannibal have an opportunity they longed for at Ephesus.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenofspade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/gifts).



> So for some reason I decided it would be a good idea to write you this story in iambic pentameter. I wish you the best of Yuletides!

In Ephesus, the evening air was still,  
and motes of dust hung golden in the street.  
Though the night was starting to feel chill,  
the road still held reflected summer heat.

And in the empty street walked side by side  
two men, though different, somehow still the same.  
Both battle-hardened, calloused, steel-eyed,  
each spoke with clear respect the other’s name.

In spite of his defeat, still great in fame,  
the older man in Carthage made his home.  
Hannibal Barca was his given name.  
The world would not forget his war on Rome.

Scipio was younger of the two,  
though what he lacked in years, he had in wit.  
He’d seen what Hannibal’s army planned to do,  
through cunning strategy defeated it.

Although they’d led two armies still opposed.  
and talked of war, as generals mostly do,  
one wouldn’t have been wrong if one supposed  
that something went unsaid between the two.

But hidden under metaphors and hints,  
their words acknowledged both of them had come  
to bear the other’s lasting fingerprints.  
Still, neither said, You made me what I am

Said Scipio, at last, “Come dine with me.  
A conversation’s better over wine,”  
Said Hannibal, “I wish that this could be.  
But you must eat with your men, I with mine.”

Scipio sighed. “For now, this is the case,  
but I will pray this chance might come again.”  
And in the lined and weatherbeaten face  
of his old foe, regret was written then.

If only they were in some other place  
where they could meet as ordinary men.  
Somewhere where a man could now embrace  
his enemy, and greet him as a friend.

The time would come, but not for many years,  
when both were old, their strength and glory past;  
when two great empires’ hopes and dreams and fears  
were carried now by other men, at last.

Another summer night, another town,  
another harbour breeze to cool the air.  
An old, forgotten general finally found  
something that he’d searched for everywhere.

Said Scipio, “I heard that you were dead.”  
“I heard the same of you,” was the reply.  
“By your own hand, was what the rumour said.”  
A trace of fear was still in Hannibal’s eye.

When Scipio heard of his foe’s demise,  
he’d felt the same familiar creeping dread  
Don’t fear,” he said, “I don’t intend to die  
for some time yet. I’ve things to do instead.”

“The same to you,” said Hannibal, “I’d like  
to finish what we started, Scipio.”  
Scipio, surprised and pleased alike,  
said, “What we started all those years ago?”

“All those years ago, at Ephesus,  
you asked me if I’d share a meal with you.  
With enmity between the two of us  
I couldn’t yet do what I wanted to.”

“You’re asking me this time,” said Scipio.  
“Balance matters much to men like us.  
There are parts of you I still don’t feel I know  
And many things I’d still like to discuss.”

They settled down with bread and meat to dine,  
as the sun went down on their repast,  
and, Hannibal, sharing out the wine,  
picked up the thread of conversations past

“If I had brought the Roman Empire low  
and marched on Rome, had all things gone to plan,  
I’d be the greatest general ever known.  
I’d still consider you the greatest man.”

“The greatest man?” asked Scipio. “In defeat?  
How could you think me greatest, had I lost?”  
Said Hannibal, “If we hadn’t come to meet,  
Though Carthage would span the world, to me the cost  
Would not be worth the land from here to Crete  
Nor all the oceans Carthage would have crossed.  
A world without you leaves me incomplete.”

When Hannibal had wished he had, back then,  
Been born without responsibility,  
He’d never thought he’d get the chance again.  
He wouldn’t waste this opportunity.

“I often asked myself who we’d be when  
no empires or wars stood in our way,  
We meet at last as no-one, two old men,  
Who choose their paths themselves. What do you say?”

“My friend,” said Scipio. “May I call you friend?  
The only thing that held me back before  
Was fate which led two empires to contend,  
And pledged us both to fight our fathers’ war.”

Said Hannibal, “I like friend very much,  
Though I can think of something I’d like more,”  
his soldier’s eyes alight, lips tilted up.  
Scipio hadn’t seen this look before.

But still, he knew exactly what it meant.  
It said, I know I’m doing something right  
It said, I planned this. It’s no accident.  
It said, I know now I can win this fight.

It was, he thought, the face his foe had worn  
at Cannae, as the Roman troops had fled;  
the same expression Scipio had borne  
at Zama, when he’d put Rome’s fears to bed.

Scipio could have stretched this further yet.  
He also knew the rules by which they played  
The winner was the one to finally get  
the other to admit what went unsaid

But Scipio was done with playing games,  
his plans played out, his stratagems all spent.  
He said, “I think this time, at last, our aims  
are not at odds, are not so different.”

He reached out then and touched his fingertips  
to Hannibal’s, to underline his speech.  
His eyes caught on his older rival’s lips;  
that border yet he wasn’t game to breach.

Others might have kissed each other then,  
But these two, in their endless stalemate.  
Did nothing without strategy and plan  
There would be peace terms to negotiate.

Still, things had changed between two men now.  
No longer foes, they’d called each other friend.  
And though they hadn’t clarified the how,  
they would be now together till the end.

The same air here hung dusty on the land.  
The same same sun lit the streets and turned them gold.  
The same two men walked, this time hand in hand.  
Their passion had but shifted, not grown cold.

The world remembers battles lost and won,  
but no-one else saw enmity undone.


End file.
